Verbing, Bob-tailed Mice & Genetic Absolution

You can learn a lot from all these bright young folks (BYFs) running around. I just found out about “verbing.” Verbing is what the BYFs call it when you take a noun and use it to refer to the characteristics of that person or thing.

For example, I might say, “I want a lawyer who will OJ this case.” “I just had my health care Obama-ed.” Or-or (if I knew any other public personalities I’d do another example since I like to do things in threes.)

In any case, I just discovered I’ve been verbed. To make it worse I have not only been verbed, I have been Averett-ed.

Keep in mind that verbing must be an individual situation. If you attempt to verb a group it is called stereotyping which is improper, unacceptable and politically incorrect. As you know I always, usually, sometimes, er, occasionally, accidentally attempt to be politically correct.

According to the BYFs “to Averett” has multiple meanings. It can mean taking on an impossible project or it can mean convincing someone else to take on an impossible project or it can mean any of my other various character traits. Someone might say, “I drove by and saw a thingy in the dumpster so I Averetted it and took it home.”

For the past few months I have been the victim of an “Averett” by the son. It started when he asked if he could buy a couple of newspapers. Since usually newspapers only cost a dollar or less I said sure. It turned out he wanted to buy three (which is a couple if I am saying it but should be a few if someone else is saying it) established newspapers to publish.

Well, to make a long story short he bought them. As they often say “the nut doesn’t fall far from the tree.” At 27-years-old I would have jumped at a chance like that. However, now that I am almost 60 I should be reaching the place where I sit on the veranda in a rocking chair, smoking a pipe and drinking mint juleps and complaining about the Government and watching the Grand-brats play.

Maybe that should be sit on a couch on the porch (pronounced poach here in Southside Virginia) with a hound dog, smoking hand rolled Bull Durham and drinking beer and complaining about the Gov-mit and watching the Grand-brats play.

Whichever it is, now it looks like my “poach sitting” is going to be a few more years away. It’s not all bad since I don’t like mint juleps, beer or Bull Durham anyway. Besides, I complain about the Government here already.

I was just assigned to buy some replacement mice (or is that mouses?) for the computers. I just had a bit of an epiphany. Sort of an epiphanette. They were originally called mice because of the tail-like cord that connected them to the computer. Now that they are wireless, does that make them hamsters?

I just got a Christmas letter from my 90-something-year-old uncle in Tennessee. He is in the cemetery where he just had his tombstone set. His Christmas picture is of him laying in front of the tombstone testing out his grave. It all makes sense to me. It also absolves me of any blame for any of my alleged oddities. It is a genetic thing and isn’t my fault. I intend to blame my mother and her genes for all of my future aberrations.

Finally, Merry Christmas to all three of my regular readers and anyone else who is accidentally reading this. As my regulars know the final Rural Legends of each year is written by my bride Management.

Ten years ago she volunteered to write one column. I convinced her to write one the next year. As you may know once you do something twice it becomes tradition and MUST be continued-forever and ever. The BYFs might say I pulled an Averett.